


Nerves

by bravelikealady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, sansaery, wolfthorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6411349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravelikealady/pseuds/bravelikealady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa has been whisked away to Highgarden to marry Willas Tyrell and grateful to find that Margaery is willing to help her with anything. Absolutely anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nerves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elephantshell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantshell/gifts).



> This was written during a three day migraine, so please don't think badly of me for any typos/mistakes. I will edit this better once my head feels like mine again!

“I am frightened,” she whispered, and regretted it instantly. Margaery’s hands continued to gently tie the ribbon around her neck as Sansa watched herself grow paler in the mirror. 

 

Sansa felt the pressure of the last knot and saw Margaery’s face over her shoulder in the reflection. Margaery sighed, “of what, sweet girl?”

 

She turned, coming face to face with Margaery, relieved to see that her dark eyes held only the kindness she had known in King’s Landing. “I trust that Willas is what you say… kind and loving… and I have loved getting to know him. I do not want to seem ungrateful.”

 

“What is it, Sansa?” 

 

Sansa looked at Margaery’s hands interlacing with her own, watched the tawny, slender fingers of a woman trace her knuckles, as she took a deep breath. 

 

“I have never really even kissed a boy. A… a man.”

 

Margaery let out a slight laugh and squeezed Sansa’s hands, “I see.”

 

“You think I’m stupid.”

 

“No. Of course not,” Margaery said, running her hand down the side of Sansa’s face, her thumb brushing her lips only slightly, but enough to send a chill up her neck. Margaery gave her a wink, dropped her hands, then crossed to the door.

 

_ She will tell Willas. He will laugh at me _ . But she did not leave. Sansa heard her whisper at the slightly open door, “Please tell them to start luncheon. I’m afraid I must be greedy with my soon-to-be sister. It will be a dinner ceremony after all, but please assure them it is all my fault.”

 

“I did not mean to cause a hold up, I am just nervous,” the guard at the door laughed as Margaery dismissed the ladies who waited on them, none of them paying Sansa any mind. “Margaery, please know I did not mean to be rude.”

 

“Rude?”

 

Margaery closed the door behind the ladies and crossed back to where Sansa stood. “You are not rude, Sansa. I would never think that. We planned for nerves. Yours and Willas’s alike. Especially after all you’ve been through. Sit, Sansa.”

 

Margaery gestured towards the trunk that rested against her bed and Sansa did as she was bid. When she joined, Margaery turned her body towards Sansa and tucked a piece of her copper hair behind her ear. Smiling she said, “Sansa… we are going to practice.”

 

“Practice?”

 

“Kissing.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Only if it would make you feel better.”

 

_ Kissing Margaery.  _ Sansa’s heart was beating fast and she felt all the blood in her body rush and buzz. She licked her lips as she thought it over.  _ I want to _ , she realized. _ I really want to. And… she is my husband’s sister… It will make it easier for everyone, what is the harm? _

 

“I think it would,” Sansa said, smiling. Her nervousness was still there, but it was warm, wild, it made me her energized instead of morose. Nervousness hadn’t felt that good since she first left Winterfell for King’s Landing.

 

“Good,” Margaery almost whispered, sliding closer to Sansa, running her fingers through her hair. Sansa had never been so close to Margaery before. She smelled like flowers in spring rain and there were amber freckles along her nose. Sansa’s eyes landed on her lips, admiring her perfect cupid’s bow, the way her bottom lip protruded slightly, in a permanent, coquettish pout. “Close your eyes, Sansa.”

 

Sansa closed her eyes but she could still smell Margaery. She felt Margaery’s hand leave her hair and land on her knee, the left hand following and touching the other knee. Margaery parted her knees and slid her own between Sansa’s; Margaery was so close she could feel her breath on her skin. Her nipples hardened and the buzz of blood  _ changed… _ but Sansa did not worry about that. She waited.

 

Margaery’s lips found her own and Sansa kissed back, the pop between them pleasant and moist. Sansa kept her eyes closed but leaned forward again, catching Margaery’s top lip between her own, more suction than pop this time.

 

“See, Sansa? You’re a natural,” Margaery whispered. 

 

Sansa opened her eyes and saw Margaery beaming. She could not help but smile back. Her eyes studied the soft, brown curls, and the way the sunlight through the window illuminated small strands of golden hair here and there. She trailed to Margaery’s long neck and collarbone. I wonder what it’s like to be kissed there. Margaery had yet to put her corset on top of her smallclothes, so she caught glimpse of her small, firm breasts, a perfectly rounded brown nipple visible as she leaned forward.

 

“Sansa?”

 

“Sorry… I... “

 

“It’s okay. You look flushed. Stand up.”

 

She stood, “I am well, Margaery, only still nervous.”

 

But Margaery was already behind her unlacing her corset. She whispered into Sansa’s ear as she did so, “I think it’s best we get you out of this, let you cool off.”

 

Sansa’s breath grew heavy as Margaery unlaced and her lips, the other lips, seemed to pulse.  _ Is a kiss suppose to feel like this? It never felt like this when Joffrey would kiss me, even before… _

 

The corset dropped to the floor and Margaery ran a finger down Sansa’s spine, making her shudder and buck her hips, so small, so slight, a bucking not visible, she hoped. She felt Margaery’s lips pressed to her ear and another chill ran through her (and  _ those _ lips) as she whispered, “Do you want to kiss me again, Sansa?”

 

“Yes,” she said, feeling Margaery’s fingers dance along her waist as she moved in front of her.

 

“Good… part your lips slightly, Sansa.”

 

“Should I close my eyes again?”

 

“Only if you want to.”

 

Sansa did. She felt their bottom lips meet, then felt Margaery sucking her bottom in between hers, pressing her tongue into Sansa’s mouth, flicking against her own. She leans into it, massaging her tongue into Margaery’s, but before she knows what is happening she wraps her hand around the back of Margaery’s neck, running her nails into her hairline. Margaery kisses her harder and takes her free hand and places it onto one of those small, firm breasts. It is wet in Margaery’s mouth, it is wet down Sansa’s cheeks, it is wet on the part of her womanhood.

 

“Sansa,” Margaery whispers pulling away.

 

“You told me once… some girls like pretty girls.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Like this? Do they like them like this?”

 

“Yes. And more.”

 

“More?”

“Much more.”

 

Margaery is leading Sansa to the bed and she is following, willingly, her heart beating faster than she ever has before. Sansa scoots herself onto the bed and instinctively spreads her legs. “Margaery,” she pleads, lifting the thin gown, all that had stood between her bare flesh and the corset that now lie on the ground, all that covered her untouched skin, “is this only practice?”

 

“No,” Margaery says, lifting the small sleeveless shift over her head, revealing those beautiful breasts fully, and a shock of dark hair below her hip bones that Sansa could not look away from. “This is something I want. I am selfish.”

 

“I want it, too,” Sansa whispered as Margaery pulled her forward, stopping when Sansa’s bottom hung only slightly off of the bed. Their eyes never left each other as Margaery dropped to her knees and Sansa slid her gown off of her.

 

It was Margaery who broke their gaze and Sansa watched as she placed her index and middle finger into her mouth and pulled them out again covered in her saliva. She pushed Sansa’s knees apart once more and smiled.

 

“You’re so open to me, Sansa. I can see how wet you are.”

 

Sansa blushed, “Is… is that good?”

 

“You never pleasured yourself?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I’ll make up for lost time.”

 

Sansa watched as Margaery ran those two fingers down her slit and saw for herself that she  _ was _ open, that she  _ was _ wet. Margaery’s tawny fingers trace her vulva and then her inner lips over and over, in random pattern, her skin in contrast to the pink of Sansa’s womanhood. She slides those two fingers inside of Sansa and Sansa gasps, holds her breath as Margaery presses up and wiggles her fingers against the roof of her opening. Too soon, she pulls her fingers out, rubs their moistness along the thumb of the very same hand, and Sansa is scared it’s all over, scared of how much more she wants, but Margaery is inside of her again. 

 

“This, Sansa,” she says, positioning her thumb over the nub at the top of her moistness, the nub Sansa had never been aware of before but was now pulsing, hardened, “is where all of the pleasure lies.”

 

Margaery placed her thumb down and swirled gently in circular motions, changing pressure and direction in unpredictable intervals, her two fingers slowly massaging Sansa inside. Sansa’s breaths are audible and peppered with moans. Margaery stops, places kissing down Sansa’s thighs, before running her tongue from bottom to top of her now glistening tenderness. She places her tongue just under the clitoris and flits her tongue up and done, just bumping it enough to send teeny, tiny shocks that make Sansa clench, make Sansa want her more.

 

“More,” she whispers to Margaery, “more, more, more.” 

 

Margaery’s dark hair blaze with mischief as she stops to smile and Sansa feels herself get even wetter from that alone. The circular motion comes back, this time with Margaery’s tongue, slicker, more precise than a thumb could ever hope to be, and Sansa digs her nails into her own plump breasts as Margaery wraps an arm around her leg and grasps into her upper thigh. Staring into Margaery’s eyes as she pleasures Sansa is the wildest thing that Sansa has ever done. She feels like crying, she feels like she’s dying, but she never wants it to end. And she says as much.

 

“Oh, Margaery, please keep going,  _ please _ , please  _ keep going _ .”

 

Margaery rests her tongue firmly against that pleasure spot and then sucks on it, giving her sensation so intense that she firstly stops breathing, secondly begins to rock against Margaery’s mouth, making the shocks of pleasure come harder and faster. Is this wrong, is this wrong, is this wrong, and Sansa doesn’t know if she means the rocking or everything. She tells herself it doesn’t matter wraps her hands in Margaery’s hair, pulling the girl’s mouth down onto her even harder. Sansa gasps as Margaery slips two fingers, then three, inside of her, and feels herself clenching and pulsing around those fingers. Her dark curls shake out in little tendrils as she twists her head back, forth, and around, going from sucking to applying little, wild licks against Sansa’s clitoris. The in and out of breath is harder and harder and releases in audible  _ uh-uh-uhs _ . 

 

And then Sansa feels her stomach dropping away and feels herself opening up even wider, but still clenching even harder. “Yes, yes, oh gods, oh gods, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” she thinks she is screaming but she cannot stop and then she feels herself tighten around Margaery’s fingers. Margaery removes them, pulls the fold of skin back from her nubbin with her index finger and spreads her wider apart with the middle and thumb, still gripping Sansa’s thigh with the other hand ( _ I will bruise _ , she thinks,  _ good _ ). Sansa bites her lip as she sees Margaery dribble her own spit onto her now fully exposed clit and go back to sucking on it, bites it so hard she bleeds as Margaery sucks harder and faster and harder and harder and faster and faster and faster and Sansa is shaking, clenching not just in that pink cavern but everywhere, and she feels a wild gushing as her walls clench faster and faster. Margaery feels that rush of fluid and drops down, slurping it from Sansa’s passage, running her tongue in and out of her. Sansa can see her own moistness dribble down Margaery’s cheeks and chin. She does her best to catch her breath, “I’m sorry.”

 

“What for, Sansa? I loved every moment of this.”

 

“I did not think it was supposed to be so messy.”

 

“For some women it isn’t, Sansa.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“No,” Margaery said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, moving to plop against the headboard of the bed, perpendicular to where Sansa was trying to remember how to breathe, her legs still spread wide, her thighs and walls still twitching. “I loved it. And when I felt you tighten around my fingers… I guessed you might do that. I was hoping for it.” 

 

“Really,” Sansa asked, looking up at Margaery, feeling her mouth water at the sight of that shock of hair, at her own damp reward dripping along those breasts.

 

“Really,” Margaery said.

 

Sansa rolled onto her stomach then crawled toward Margaery. “I want to make you feel good.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I want you to have whatever you want,” Margaery said. “I could tell you loved it, Sansa. I loved that you loved it.”

 

“I want you to love something, too.”

 

Margaery laughed, “If you want me, Sansa, take me. But please, do not feel like you have to. This was enough for me. You taste like lemons and I’m happy just to be here, to wear you on my lips for the rest of the day.”

 

Sansa, quicker than she knew she could move, was kissing Margaery.  _ I do taste like lemons _ . She sucked on Margaery’s tongue, long and slow, and spread the girl’s legs, skinnier but shorter than her own, rocking against her. Her hands found Margaery’s small breasts and she traced kisses down her neck, into that crevice of color bone. Still gripping the breasts, Sansa found a nipple with her mouth and licked slowly around it, trying to mimic what had felt so good on her nether lips. She gave it a suck before kissing along Margaery’s chest to the others. She let her hands rest now on Margaery’s thighs as she kissed her other breast as she had her mouth, running her tongue over and then back down the nipple, playfully biting (which caused Margaery to shriek then laugh delightfully) before kissing down Margaery’s stomach.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Sansa whispered, looking up into Margaery’s eyes.

 

“And lucky,” Margaery said, brushing hair from Sansa’s face, then twisting a strand of her hair between her fingers.

 

“Will you tell me if I do something wrong,” Sansa asked, not looking at Margaery but instead admiring her opening, more beige than the pink of her own, spreading those inner lips, and taking in the smell of her, sweet, and the deep, moist pink inside of her.  _ I have never seen anything so beautiful, _ she thought.  _ She wondered if Margaery would like to just look at her that way. She wondered if she could ask her to _ .

 

“You won’t,” Margaery said, “but I’ll allows be honest with you.”

 

Sansa looked at Margaery once more and then placed her tongue, heavy and wet, inside of her. She went as deep as she could and then lapped upwards, cherishing the salt and wet of her. She remembered what Margaery said about the pleasure… and she moved on, sad to not simply taste Margaery forever, but eager to please her. Sansa placed a kiss, as gentle and shy as their first only moments ago, onto Margaery’s clitoris, less hidden and larger than her own. Margaery gasped and Sansa felt herself get wet again. She reached a hand up and clutched at her right breast, rubbing her thumb over the nipple gently, as she placed those small kisses along the outer lips. Then Sansa gave three big licks before kissing Margaery’s stiff bud as deeply, tenderly, and eagerly as she had Margaery’s mouth when madness had gripped her before. 

 

She kept her mouth cupped over that most pleasant spot and ran her head up and down, moving her tongue in opposite motion. Margaery’s breathing grew deeper and deeper and she grabbed her own ankles, lifting her legs, making her even more open to Sansa. This drove her mad. Eyes fixed on Margaery’s pert, bouncing breasts, she turned her head to one side, then the other, teasing only parts of that plump, beautiful bud, and never all of it at once. Margaery started to moan and shake and Sansa wanted to taste her again so badly, but didn’t want the shuddering or the moaning to stop. She kept her tongue stiff and ran her face up and down the length of Margaery’s womanhood, tasting her opening and dragging across the clit, over and over, moving faster each time. As Margaery started to rock against her face, Sansa spread her legs farther apart and made large, sticky circles just around the point of pleasure, never touching it, hoping she could make Margaery feel as wild and desperate as she had felt. 

 

“Sansa,” Margaery said, eager, something almost dangerous in her voice. “I want you to suck on it. Suck on it for me.”

 

And so Sansa did. She suctioned in even intervals, moving her tongue to slightly different placement before beginning again, pulsating against the clitoris differently every time. When Sansa moved her tongue to the base of the clit and slightly left then suctioned gently, but more tightly onto it, she heard Margaery whisper, “Seven hells.”

 

A smile would have crossed her face if she weren’t so focused to keep that position. She started sucking faster, and then harder, letting off slightly for only a moment every time Margaery would sigh, wanting to make the moment last forever. Suddenly Margaery’s hands were in her hair, gripping her hard, and Margaery rocked against her mouth, pushing her onto her unforgivingly, bucking faster and faster and faster, which made Sansa even wetter, and so she suctioned ever harder, moved her head in opposition to Margaery’s bucks. She felt Margaery shudder, shudder, shudder, then stop moving, but she did not want to let go. Sansa continued to suck on her center until Margaery told her to stop.

 

“Sansa…”

 

“Yes,” she asked, looking up into Margaery’s big, dark eyes.

 

“That was… come here.”

 

Sansa rose up as Margaery’s legs dropped around her. Margaery pulled Sansa’s legs over her so that she was straddling her and then she pulled Sansa over, hugging her into her breasts, kissing the side of her forehead. Sansa slid down so that her clit was lying into Margaery’s own moistness and began to rock.

 

“Ooooh,” Margaery whispered. “Give me a moment, just give me a moment, you got me so good.”

 

They were both laughing, in each other’s arms, Margaery now leading the rocking of Sansa’s tenderness against her own when a loud knock rapped upon the door.


End file.
